


stalemate

by doofusface



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Identity Reveal, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-14 03:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14126673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doofusface/pseuds/doofusface
Summary: Wherein: Peter figures it out, MJ makes a phone call, and Ned pulls off a death glare.





	1. air for the shadows

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT 2.0: HI I HAD. TO CHANGE. the summary. because I wrote the old one when this was only a oneshot and now it’s this hot mess of a three-piece suit. (it’s one fragment for each chapter)  
> EDIT: hello dont forget to reread your stuff after taking a nap because I just found the One time inconsistency I for forgot to edit :| should be all good now, sorry about that mess 
> 
> wow im a dirty liar and im very emo about this thought
> 
> to be fair i did take at Least a day off so SOOOO yknow
> 
> TW: ptsd and anxiety show up a fair bit so please take care if these are triggers or squicks! (stuff about air and vague mentions of infinity war, but only whatever's in the trailers tbh)

MJ knows.

She hasn’t said anything, but Peter thinks she’s just humoring him at this point.

Ned still thinks he’s being paranoid, but he’s talked to her as Spider-Man multiple times now— _all_ accidental—and lately he hasn’t bothered trying to weakly deepen his voice, because _MJ Knows, She Has To._

P. Parker presents the following evidences:

  * She’s AcaDec captain, and cares way more about her teammates than she would like to admit.



So, logic follows, completely ignoring Peter’s constant disappearances during times of crises would be out of character, especially considering she eats lunch with him and Ned on the daily. As friends. (He has many witnesses to her calling him and Ned thusly, so _ha, take that_.)

She doesn’t even bother checking up on him anymore after said times of crises—just nods in his direction to acknowledge his existence. It’s perplexing.

(If Peter’s being honest, he kinda misses her leaving him voicemails like a couple of years ago, when he was just starting his “internship”. His theory as to why she’s stopped bothering him is that Spider-Man’s been pretty good about _not_  losing fights lately—sans Thanos—if only barely. That, and he hasn’t had a giant bruise on his side in at _least_  three months—again, sans Thanos. Thanos ruined his streak. Screw him.)

  * MJ only lets certain people call her “MJ”.



...But, it seems, Spider-Man is her one exception. Which is _sketchy_ , given that he isn’t even her favorite Avenger.

Peter has proof: she has admitted multiple times, on-camera and off, that King T’Challa and the (until recently) missing Bucky Barnes were prime examples of her _type_ , if only in those with enhanced abilities.

(“What about Cap?” Peter had said once.

“Also acceptable,” she’d conceded. “But I don’t know, I think it’s weird to crush on a guy who found his soulmate like, 70 years ago.” _Shrug._ “Can’t compete with _the_ Peggy Carter.”

 _Yes, you can_ , Peter’d thought involuntarily.

“What about Spider-Man?” Ned had _pointedly_ asked, which Peter'd slightly resented.

“ _Hmm_.” MJ had given as a response.

That’s all.

Just _hmm_ , like it wasn’t something she’d considered properly before, or, as Peter likes to assume:  _because he’s Spider-Man and that would be weird_.)

  * She hasn’t called him out on his PTSD.



This one is the clincher. The Big Haul. The _only_ point Ned is unable to refute whenever Peter brings it up.

Peter’s spidey-sense has been _severely_ haywire since the world almost ending, and his, _er_ , temporary passing. He’s had trouble sleeping since the Vulture, sure, but Thanos and those stones were a different ballgame. Every now and then Peter feels a gust much too _fast_ , like being on that...that _ship_ , or whatever it was, rising into space. He forgets where he is, clinging to the wall _just in case_ the warlord decided to exit and _thwack_ him back to the ground (or sea) at a thousand miles an hour.

Sometimes he clings to the nearest person.

Sometimes that person is MJ.

***

“Hey Peter,” she whispers, letting his arms envelope her lower half with blinding speed. He’s shaking, twitching at every small thing, breathing erratically. Peter isn’t here, he’s right at the border of Earth’s atmosphere, right there, _right there_ , and he can’t see anything other than the energy that comes from pure _power_ —from _Thanos_.

 _He’s inside, he’s inside, he’s insi_ —

MJ’s leaning on the wall, lowering slightly to hug him back. Carefully. _Gently_. He’s still twitching, and the homeless guy in the next corner looks like he knows a thing or two about what’s going on, because he’s turned his head in fear.

The truck’s passed.

“It’s okay, Pete, it’s just me.” _Soft_. She’s going to feel the crush of his arms for a good hour or so, but it’s barely a concern right now. Her hands pat his back, then move to his face. _Look at me_ , she thinks, adjusting Peter so he’s forced to look up at her straight-on. Like a human blinder. “It’s just MJ, see?”

The air’s gone.

He’s safe.

He’s at the corner of Queens Blvd and 71st.

He was going to watch a movie with Ned.

And MJ.

“MJ,” he rasps.

“Yeah, loser, _MJ_. C’mon, we’ve got a movie to catch.”

Peter’s brain fizzles out again when he realizes he’s crouched on the ground, hugging her legs like a bear, and sheepishly lets go. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about, nerd,” she says, and they meet Ned inside to watch the movie that _isn’t_ about the apocalypse.

***

Peter sees MJ the next day and she keeps _stretching_ , which is weird, because she hates all forms of physical exertion not pertaining to patriotic protests.

At gym, he has a passing glance at the dark marks that look like bones one would find on the forearm, and five-spotted shadows dug into the sides of her thighs as her shorts ride up slightly.

It’s two seconds, but it’s enough.

She’d treated him like normal the entire day, but when she catches him eye the admittedly... _disconcerting_ bruises, she just gives him a look that says, _It’s okay. It’s okay, you didn’t mean it._

His says, _It’s still my fault._

***

Forget the fact that sometimes a Decathlon question is, on the surface, completely unrelated to _anything_ even remotely Avengers-related but still manages to make him crumple.

Because it sounds like something Cap would say.

Or Tony.

Or Bruce.

Something about Russia, about Nat.

ASL.

About Wakandan culture.

Sokovia.

Metal, and wings.

Something, something, _something_.

It’s always enough to derail him, and he misses the window of time it takes to answer.

Flash’s irritable _snickering_ isn’t even an annoyance at his point—just a distant _thrumming_ as Peter remembers.

Falling.

Screaming.

Shooting.

Heavy thumps of skin hitting muscle. Or worse.

Breaking.

 _Why is everything breaking?_ he thinks.

The room’s red and black and _fire, so much fire, where’s Tony? Wher_ —

 _Snap_.

“No sleepwalking in Decathlon, loser,” MJ quips from the grandmaster’s podium. Her eyes are on the cards.

His are on her.

Ned’s two tables over, watching this go down.

Peter’s aware he’s sweating. He’s also aware he’s halfway out of his seat and looks like he’s about to grab the curtain behind them, even though he doesn’t remember _why_.

“Peter, are you feeling alright?” Mr. Harrington asks.

“Yeah,” he responds too fast, retracting his hands. “Yeah, I’m good, sorry, I—uh, I think I just, um, need a snack.”

Ned gets up to help him walk to his bag.

MJ, he sees out of the corner of his eye, is trying her hardest not to crumple up the flashcards. One hand twitches slightly, still holding them—the other is on the podium, white-knuckled.

 _Caring_ , Peter thinks.

It’s been almost five months and he’s gotten _better_ (thanks, therapy), but it still happens sometimes, like this. Mr. Harrington still thinks it’s because he’s got diabetes or something like it, which really is the bare minimum of _sense_ , but if it works, it works.

Except, obviously, it doesn’t work on MJ.

So she _must_ know.

Because she’s been with him and Ned since mid-sophomore year, and they’ve done everything together—except patrol.

But:

Somehow she knows about his night terrors.

And isn't wondering why he’s freaking out so much more than usual.

And there are comments, there are _snippets_.

“Hey nerd, you look like a giant lizard just kicked your butt,” was one, the hour after the fight. They had movie night scheduled, and he and Ned thought it would be bad going to cancel.

“Pete, you’ve got a little—” was another, as she motioned to the collarbone area. He got hit there with a superpowered punch, and it was still healing.

And, of course: “Did you know Spidey buys stuff from Delmar’s? I saw him outside on the way to your place and _dude_ , he sounds like a _child_.”

* * *

Summer.

Graduation.

Peter's sitting in his bunk, cap and gown thrown  _somewhere_ , about an hour ago, because he has more pressing matters to attend to.

“Ned, if she doesn’t know, then I’m a lunatic.”

Ned stares at him, breath held.

Peter frowns, unamused. “...Say it.”

“You’re a lunatic.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Pete,” Ned says, ducking his head. “She would’ve _said_ something by now.”

_Would she?_

“She’s like, insanely secretive! I bet she’s enjoying messing with me,” Peter replies, arms flailing. “There’s no way she doesn’t know, dude.”

“There are a _hundred_ different reasons to make Spider-Man jokes.”

“...I meant the _other_ thing.”

“Maybe she just…” Ned sighs. It’s a losing battle; he knows, he’s tried. “...Okay, maybe she knows. Maybe. Why don’t you just, like, ask her if she knows? Or _tell_ her _so_ she knows?”

Peter’s thought about it. Long hours with May going back and forth about the _how’_ s and _why’_ s and _forgive me’_ s and _I need you to know you matter to me, but I also wanted to keep you as safe as possible_ ’s.

But Ned’s right. The world was in flames just last year, and Ned’s _right_.

What’s the point in hiding anymore? He’s seen death; he knows what it’s like to have his life flash before him. Have her face there along with everyone else’s, except _unlike_ Ned and May, she gets the short end of the stick, being out of everything that has to do with Spider-Man.

Except their nice little chats when he’s in-suit.

Like when he buys a sandwich and she shows up and he orders her usual, like an idiot, because Spider-Man’s _not supposed to know that_.

Or when she was picketing at the courts and he’d dropped off the bank robber from four blocks away. He’d spotted her, and she’d remembered him.

“Hey Spidey, you can call me MJ,” she’d said. “Make it easier on yourself.”

“Oh. Uh. Cool, thanks ma’a— _MJ_ , thanks, MJ.”

_Thumbs up._

Or every time he catches a bike thief and for _some_ reason she’s always two-to-four blocks away.

Besides, she knows. And if she knows, then he’s only going to be giving her a formal invite into the craziness that is his life.

“Do it while it’s still summer,” Ned says, pulling him away from his reverie. “It’s gonna be hard when she’s in another state.”

Peter laughs shakily. “That’s…yeah. I should.”

* * *

MJ’s across him on the couch, sipping tea. She’s lying on the armrest, mimicking his position, and they just...stare. At each other. For ten minutes.

MJ has a sketchbook out, and he’s pretty sure if he breaks eye contact she’s going to pretend to be studying him for “drawing purposes” because she thinks he “has a nice jawline”.

So he doesn’t. Because he needs to let her know.

Even though he’s stalling.

And Ned keeps passing by his side of the couch to not-so-subtly _nudge_ him, because _Dude it’s been fifteen minutes, we’re going to miss the marathon!_

Peter clears his throat after Ned’s twentieth pass. “So, uh, what’s up?”

MJ stares at him, face blank. “You invited me over. Literally. This morning. That’s why I’m here.”

_Maybe I can just backtrack and she won’t noti—_

_Nudge_.

“ _Ow_ ,” Peter hisses, Ned’s elbow making contact with the back of his neck.

Ned coughs. “Oops.” _Cough_. “Hurry up.” _Sneeze_. “Movie marathon.”

“I can understand you, weirdo,” MJ says, not breaking eye contact with Peter.

It’s chess.

Peter’s not very good at chess.

 _I’m Spider-Man_ , he thinks, but it doesn’t reach his mouth. It’s reflex; he’s been trying to keep it a secret for so long that he just... _doesn’t_ know how to say the sentence out loud.

Trained by soldiers.

Toughened by war.

He gives in, breaking contact to walk to his room.

Ned’s behind him.

He doesn’t care. He’s not running.

Ned stops at the doorway. “Dude, what _—_ ” he starts, watching Peter dig into his bag. He furrows his brows. “What are you...?”

“I can’t _say_ it,” Peter replies, agitated. He’s mad at himself. He doesn’t know _why_ he’s mad at himself, because that was the _point_ of the training, but he _is_. He pulls out his mask. “I can’t say the _stupid sentence_.”

Ned moves.

Peter rushes back to the couch looking like a caged animal, mask in his back pocket. Why is it happening right _now_? What started it? Why does he feel like he’s having a heart attack?

“Pete, look at me,” MJ says automatically. She's changed posture, sitting up and leaning in his direction.

_She knows, she knows, she know—_

She’s in front of him. When did she get in front of him? “Peter, _breathe_.”

When did he get on the couch? Why is he _crying_?

 _Pat, pat_. “ _Hey_ , hey. It’s okay, see? It’s _okay_. Ned, get him water.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Peter whispers. He’s glad May isn’t home. He’s _super_ glad May isn’t home.

Ned holds out a glass of water. MJ’s hands move from Peter’s face to the cup.

_When did they land there?_

“Drink.”

He drinks.

“Breathe, Pete,” she repeats. “Deep breaths. Follow me.”

_In, hold, out. In, hold, out._

“Good job, buddy—you’re not completely terrible at basic human functions,” she quips, as if nothing _weird_ just happened.

_Was that a panic attack?_

Peter takes out his mask.

MJ _blinks_.

“Thank you,” he whispers again.

Ned’s taken the glass and excused himself under guise of refilling. He’s about as jumpy as Peter is, so he knows the guy can only really take one person consoling him at a time.

“You didn’t have to tell me,” she says.

“I technically didn’t _tell_.”

“You know what I mean, smartass.”

“I’m sorry.”

She frowns. “Peter.”

He’s counting to ten, because that’s vaguely related to physics and physics calms him.

She hugs him, curled hands on either side of his neck. “Peter, you don’t need to feel sorry, okay? Not to me. Not to Ned. Not to May. We don’t want you to feel sorry.”

He lost count, so he’s starting over.

“We want you to feel _safe_ ,” MJ whispers, right by his ear.

He does.

_He does, he does, he does._

He _promises_ he does.

Ned’s back with water the second air’s back in Peter’s lungs.

They watch a bunch of Disney films and sing along like they’re not about to see each other significantly less starting exactly two months from now.


	2. words for the heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for a short anxiety attack, but hey there's fluff in here

“Why’d you never ask?”

One month to move-in. One month to bring up that _other_ thing, if he doesn’t chicken out first.

But MJ’s good at distracting him; good at making him ask about other things and follow-up on the secret identity topic.

So:

“It was funny at first, honestly,” she starts, and Peter’s lip twitches for a smile. “But...you know, you and May and Ned share these looks like, it would be a disaster if someone else found out? And I guess I just. I understood, that you... _saving people_ …” MJ shakes her head. She’s not used to not having the right words.

...Then again, she’s not exactly used to _expressing feelings_ either. “You’ve gotta keep _some_ secrets, right? Just in case. To keep people you—um, you... _love_...safe.”

Peter’s chest constricts with the way she says “love”—like he’s missing something there.

Something important.

“Okay,” he says.

“That doesn’t make any sense, loser.”

He opens his mouth only to close it again. “That. Yeah. It—you’re right.”

“Straight up,” she nods, returning to her book.

* * *

“Oh no,” Peter wheezes, the familiar pangs stretching along his chest. “ _Oh no_.”

May’s in the next room. Sleeping. Or about to.

Ned’s in the bathroom, getting ready for bed.

Dangit.

He shouldn’t have watched the video.

Why did he watch the video?

What person with common sense thinks watching a surveillance video caught during The Attack when they’ve got PTSD from _said attack_ clicks _play_?

(Peter, apparently, because he’s a curious cat and thought it would be okay. He thought he could be like Shuri at group therapy today, strong enough to admit it hurts, but also that she’s been able to think about it more and more without _devolving_.)

Ned would know what to do. Ned’s very, _very_ good at the hug thing, which calms him down faster than anything else.

But he just hopped into the shower and that boy is _slow_.

Peter curses. He can’t wake up May; he promised himself.

None of the Avengers. None. Absolutely _not_. He doesn’t want to start a Chain of Pain, so _no_.

Just someone to talk to.

Someone who makes him feel like hot chocolate and marshmallows during winter nights, or a steady hearth in the summer eves.

Someone else who feels like home.

 _Think_.

MJ.

MJ would be awake.

MJ only sleeps early when there’s school the next day, and since it’s _summer_ , it’ll be fine.

It’ll be fine, right?

(Her phone’s already rung twice; there’s no backing out now.)

“Heyheyhey MJ.”

She’s eating something. “ _Wassup, nerd?_ ”

“Nothing, nothing’s up, nothing issss up.”

 _Curse_. “ _I’ll be there in a sec._ ”

“It would be faster if _I_ went.”

“ _I have a car, shut up. Just stay on the phone._ ” Peter hears metal hit ceramic. “ _Open the window—you like the sounds, right?_ ”

_I love the sounds. It’s refreshing. It’s everyone still alive._

“Yeah,” he says, opening the window and slumping under it. “Yeah, I like the noise.”

_Thank you for reminding me. Thank you for existing._

MJ hums soothingly, then says something to someone in the background. “ _Good job, Peter. I’m turning on the car, ‘kay? Just breathe._ ” A scuffle—she muffles the phone on the other end as the engine of her secondhand ride roars to life. It’s for his benefit, so it doesn’t jolt him.

 _Man_ , did Peter wish Ned could shower faster.

Maybe he could get the guy to set Karen to auto-hug, or something. Anything.

 _Anything_ is better than calling MJ at midnight on Friday-going-to-Saturday and guilting her into driving over.

“ _Peter, I’m happy to come over, okay?_ ” she says, reading his mind. “ _It’s all good, dude. It’s all good. You can talk to me._ ”

“Alpacas are weird,” he says.

“ _Yeah, but fluffy_ ,” she replies, not missing a beat.

On any other day, he’d pick on her for using that word, but not tonight, not here. “Still weird. Why aren’t they llamas instead?”

“ _Don’t know, actually. We can Google it later if you want._ ”

“Wow, you _don’t_ know everything?”

 _Snort_. “ _Not yet. Still working on a couple things._ ”

“Like?”

“ _Why there’s a weird hidden loop off the LIE if you’re trying to go to Astoria from Queens. Why America is still somehow standing. Why Ned still thinks it’s a good idea to try eat regular kare-kare even though he found out about his new peanut allergy last year. Why…_ ”

She mutters something Peter can’t hear through the phone.

“What?”

“ _Um—nothing. Where was I?_ ”

Peter can hear the shower shutting off. _Bless up._

“Ned’s peanut allergy.”

“ _Ah, yes. We should stage an intervention on that. It’s impractical, and EpiPen’s are expensive._ ”

Ned’s scuffling around in the bathroom. Almost free, almost at hugging range.

“ _Peter?_ ”

“Yeah, MJ?”

“ _You good there?_ ”

“I’m good.”

“ _Good._ ” She puts on some music; Beyoncé, likely, or some classic Boyz II Men. The slow jams.

“You shouldn’t play music that can put you to sleep, MJ.”

“ _I’m not sleepy._ ”

 _Yawn_. “I am.”

“ _Good, you should sleep._ ”

“But you’re coming over?”

She _hums_ and _taps_ along to the melody, and Peter yawns again. “ _I’m coming over, yeah._ ”

“How’ll you get in?”

“ _Ned, duh._ ”

“MJ?”

“ _Yeah, Pete?_ ”

“You’re being really nice.”

“ _I_ am _really nice._ ”

“Like, caring.”

“ _One:_ ow _, rude. Two: like you didn’t already know that._ ”

“Yeah,” he laughs softly. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“ _Again: straight up._ ”

The music takes over from there, and in the same ten minutes it takes Ned to dress up and walk back to Peter’s bedroom, MJ finds parking and is already halfway up to the apartment.

“ _I’m at the door_ ,” she says through the phone. “ _Want me to call Ned?_ ”

“No, I got it. I’m okay,” Peter replies, making his way past Ned towards the door.

Ned looks at him quizzically. “What’s up?”

“MJ’s here.”

Ned tilts his head in concern. “ _Dude._ Are you—?”

Peter holds up his phone, hand still twitching. “Yeah, I’m cool now, mostly. I’m still planning on collecting my free hugs, though.”

Ned pats his shoulder and salutes, heading for the couch. “I shall prepare the cuddle station.”

Peter snorts, opening the door. MJ’s got half her hair tied back, and the other half in a disaster zone; she’s still in pj’s and fuzzy Spider-Man slippers (ala May, sophomore year), holding car keys in one hand and her phone in the other.

Her phone, still by her ear.

“You wanna hang up, weirdo?” she says with a small smile, both to him and into the device.

“Not really,” Peter grins.

“This is a waste of battery.”

“You plugged in your phone when you drove over.” _You always do_.

MJ crinkles her nose, fight frail. “ _Eh_ , still.”

Ned shuffles something weighted but _soft_ in the back, and Peter manages to move enough to let MJ through, dropping the call as he does so. “Ned’s...couch,” he says vaguely, spotting something in her hair.

“C’mon, time for the greatest platonic moment of your entire life,” she says, closing the door (quietly) behind her, and dragging his staring form to the couch.

Huh.

She’s got a pen stuck behind her ear, obscured by her hair.

“Is that a Stark Industries pen?” Peter asks.

MJ freezes, two feet from the couch.

Peter sees Ned eyeing his and MJ’s clasped hands from under the three blankets and half-pillow fort covering the couch. He reddens involuntarily.

Ned coughs, and she keeps walking.

They pile onto the first blanket, and the three of them set to completing the fort.

* * *

“MJ,” Peter whispers sleepily when the clock strikes three, and Ned’s unsurprisingly _out_ between the two of them.

MJ picks her phone back up, calling him. “Mhm?”

Peter picks up before the second _buzz_. His voice drops lower, mouth pressed to his phone. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night, Pete.”

 _Yawn_. “Love you.”

“Love you too, dork.”

Peter shuffles by his armrest, eyes closed. He’s tired. Maybe they shouldn’t have had the pillow fight after all. “No, really. I _love_ you.”

“I know what you meant, Peter,” MJ replies from what seems like miles away. “Get some sleep.”

“Mmkay. Love you.” _Yawn, double yawn_. “A lot. Thank you.” _Snore_.

MJ watches her boys, eyes drooping but brain _wired_. Ned readjusts, finding a pillow with Peter’s legs, and she already _knows_ the hero’s going to have pins and needles to deal with in the morning.

Peter’s face flops onto his phone, drool escaping from his barely-open mouth.

She yawns, phone still held to her ear. “Peter?”

 _Snore_.

“Ha. Loser.”

_Snoooore._

“I am _super_ in love with you,” she whispers, almost to herself; the lagged sound from his end of the call makes a symphony around her. Her eyes are a fraction away from being fully closed, and Peter’s hazy form and bright-colored onesie is the only thing she’s trying to focus on. “Don’t ever forget it.”

 _Snooooooore_.

* * *

May lets them sleep in, but Peter gets the brunt of her _Talk To Me, We’re Family_ look when his friends finally decide to rise with the noon sun.

“ _Sorry_ ,” he says sincerely.

May hugs him. “I know, honey. I know. Just—please? Wake me up if you have to.”

(MJ would _love_ to make a joke about that making it easier on her because she won’t have to drive over, because it’s _right there_ , but that would contradict her statement last night and it...wouldn’t be very funny, given recent events.)

Peter nods into her shoulder. “Yes, May. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” She holds him at arm’s length, looking the three of them over. “Now, pancakes?”

“ _Yes_!” Ned replies, catching Peter in a side-hug.

MJ purses her lips, still blinking back sleep. “Ditto.”

“Awesome, I’ll get started.”

MJ gives her a thankful nod, zombie-walking to the bathroom to freshen up before Ned can claim it for himself.

Peter watches her go, last night a hazy memory. Ned elbows him, ignoring the fact that May is _right there_. “What happened last night?”

“Nothing?” Peter replies, scratching at his head. _Right? Nothing?_

“Uh, okay,” Ned says dropping to monotone, “so why did you have drool all over your phone?”

“I didn’t!”

“Yes you did, sweetie,” May says without turning. “And MJ slept on hers, too. Her dad had to call me to check up because it was out of juice.”

Peter furrows his brows.

Okay. The were watching _Moana_ ; Ned was getting back from the kitchen, and he plopped down between Peter and MJ.

It was almost two.

Peter squints, eyeing the couch.

Somewhere in the back, the bathroom sink runs and shuts.

_Hmm. Ned fell asleep. And then I did, I gue—_

Oh.

The bathroom door opens.

MJ's voice reaches the kitchen: “Ned, you’re up!”

“Pete, hurry, this cliffhanger is killing me,” Ned whispers, moving away from the counter but still keeping a hand on it.

MJ’s started walking over.

 _No_ , he didn’t.

Did he?

Did chronic insomnia make him the equivalent of _drunk_?

 _That’s possible_ , he thinks, remembering an article they’d read for school. _Lack of sleep makes you less inhibited._

But.

Peter stares at MJ.

But, _did he?_

MJ stares at Ned. “Dude? _Banyo_? Hygiene, Leeds.”

“Yes ma’am,” Ned answers, begrudgingly freeing Peter from his inquisitive looks.

He sends a last message from the hallway that says _You Have ‘splainin To Do_.

MJ squints at him as he passes. “What’s _his_ problem?”

Peter coughs. “Guess my legs weren’t very good pillows.”

 _Laugh._ “Could’ve told you that myself.”

May slides the first batch of pancakes over, smiling. “Help yourselves!”

“Thanks, May,” MJ says, stealing the top two.

“You don’t want the toasted ones?” Peter asks.

“I’m not feeling very picky today.”

“Ha, wonder why.”

She _looks_ at him.

He gulps.

He did.

He did say it.

 _Frick_.

* * *

Ned’s gone home.

This is it.

_Suck it up, Peter, time to get it out of the way._

He hides in the corner of his bed, because sucking up doesn’t necessarily mean _showing_ up. “So…”

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” MJ comments as Peter’s voice drops off.

Peter replies immediately: “I want to.”

_I’d love to._

“Okay,” she says, dropping her book in the spot above his head. “ _So_. You love me.”

“In love with you, yes,” he rasps with withering confidence.

“You’ve just made a terrible life choice.”

“Probably.”

“I’m moving to Massachusetts.”

“I know.”

“In two weeks.”

“I know.”

And, because MJ never quite thinks like the rest of the world: “Can you handle long distance?”

Peter blinks. “What?”

“Can _you_ —” she repeats, leaning over the railing of his top bunk, “—handle—” she motions, “— _long distance_.”

“Are…are you saying you want to date?” he asks, uncurling and raising a brow. “Date _me_?”

She shrugs. “Guess you _were_ asleep.”

“I’m confused.”

“Last night,” she explains, “I thought maybe you were faking the snoring.” She laughs lightly. “Whatever, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to say it again: I’m _super_ in love with you, Peter.”

He jumps to the ceiling, crawling over to her with wide eyes. “Can you say that _one_ more time?”

“I am _in_ _love_ with _you_.”

He moves closer, lips twitching to a smile. “One more?”

“Peter B. Parker, if you make me say it one more time, I wi— _mmph? Mmrrph…”_

* * *

The pen’s in her hair. She’d removed it when she came over Friday night/Saturday morning, but it’s back now, catching sunlight. She tilts her head, and it disappears from view.

They’re talking to Ned about what Happened on Saturday, because he’d been adamant about hearing it in person, and something about having a video camera.

“...Am I allowed to scream?” Ned asks, looking between them.

At their hands.

And intertwined fingers.

Right there, on the park table.

MJ glances at Peter. “Your vote.”

And, because he’s learned not to argue with her abstaining: “Sure.”

“Thanks,” Ned nods putting his hands together solemnly, “ _AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH_ SHURI OWES ME A HUNDRED BUCKS, YEEEEEESSSSSSSS!”

MJ takes it like a champ, staring straight at him without faltering.

Peter is sensitive and feels the cells in his brain deplete from whiplash, because _that was very loud, I’m approaching deafness_. He has _just_ enough presence of mind to remember not to crush his girlfriend’s— _wow, what a nice word_ —hand while he grimaces at Ned.

MJ squints. “ _Why_ does Shuri—nevermind. Better question: why did you bet money you don’t have?”

“I mine,” Ned says smugly, leaning back on his chair.

“That’s bad for the environment.”

“I mine when I need to pay debts.”

MJ nods. “Still bad, but I respect your self-set boundaries.”

“Thank you, future neighbor,” Ned replies, nodding slightly in acknowledgement. “Oh.” He looks to Peter. “How’s that working, by the way? You _swinging by_?”

Peter tightens his lips, refusing to frown. “No.”

“Skype?”

“Yeah,” Peter replies with a sad nod. “I’m stuck training and doing patrol until Columbia.”

“But you’re helping us move in?” Ned asks, waggling his brows. “Before you answer,” he adds, taking out a package, “I have a bribe.”

“Is. That.” Peter takes a _deep_ breath, “Is…is that the…”

“Yes, Peter,” Ned says, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It _is_.”

“ _How did you afford a Switch?_ ”

MJ quirks a brow. “Were you not listening? He _mines_.”

“Mining’s like, _cents_ , or something. That’s—”

“—three hundred bucks, I know.”

Peter _squints_.

“What? I’m aware of your interests,” MJ replies, waving a hand between him and Ned.

 _Squint_.

She squints back. “...And my cousin got one off eBay when it came out, even though I kept telling her not to.”

“More believable,” Peter says, squeezing her hand.

What a nice thing to do.

Just a _little_ thing.

Almost like a secret.

Peter _really_ likes having a girlfriend.

And he’s _really_ happy it’s MJ.

“Dude, you’re _staring_ ,” Ned says, holding laughter.

“Let him, I’ll be gone for a while,” MJ says, taking the boxed Switch with her free hand and turning it over. _Inspecting_. “Dang, this is gonna set Peter back a semester. Or three.”

Ned’s lips quirk to a smirk. “Who said anything about _giving_ it?”

(Peter’s still _heart-eyes_ _emoji_ at MJ, sighing every now and then.

Sap.)

MJ furrows her brows. “You’re bringing this to MIT?”

Ned nods smugly.

“ _Dude_ , idiot, nerd-failure—you’re not gonna _sleep_.”

“ASMR is magic, and I’m setting times for usage.”

“But can you stick to it?”

“ _Excuse me_ ,” Ned huffs, tilting his head. “Who’s the one who _could_ mine for dolla-bills, but chooses instead to be an unpaid Stark intern?”

MJ _eh_ ’s, shrugging. “Your ‘internship’ is the same as mine, and we _both_ know that’s more fun than video games.”

“Also very stressful.”

“Can we not talk shop while I’m trying to memorize the face of an angel?” Peter cuts in, eyes still locked on MJ.

“Where? Can I meet ‘em? I have some questions on their ability to be all over a rock and yet not,” MJ says blankly, turning to look around them.

Peter frowns.

Heart-eyes: gone.

“Let me compliment you.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s embarrassing,” MJ and Ned say in unison.

They high-five, eyes unwavering on Peter.

He frowns harder. “This is a coup.”

“Yup,” MJ replies, squeezing his hand. “We demand coolness.”

“I’m cool!”

Ned clears his throat. “...That wasn’t very cool.”

“ _Dude_.”

“Sorry, Pete,” he replies, hands up. “Maybe if you were Spid—”

“ _FIRE! FIRE!_ ”

Peter spins, looking around the park. His _senses_ are tingling, and there are so many _trees_ , where—?

“South,” MJ says gruffly, squinting at that direction.

“We’ll meet you at the alley by the Persian restaurant,” Ned says, packing up.

“ _Hey_ ,” MJ says, tugging Peter’s hand and stealing a kiss.

Peter shakes his head to keep the daze at bay. “What was that for?”

“Breathe, okay?” she says simply. “Don’t forget.”

He nods. His heart’s thumping too fast, but it’ll be okay.

_In, hold, out._

_In, hold, out._

He’s _Spider-Man._

He _can_ do this.

He _runs_.

...He completely forgets to ask about the pen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic is getting long and i have Regrets
> 
> im still laughing abt switching to mj only because it's faster to type
> 
> -that loop off the highway is the cause for many rerouting and needs better signs  
> -kare-kare's sauce is made with peanut butter for ease, but yeah, peanut sauce. it's Amazing, but ye.  
> -what new yorker gets a car at 18? THE ONES WHO LEAVE THE STATE  
> -filipino is spell how you say; we spell it "banyo"  
> -the angel-rock joke is 99% something i hear from my theology student friends and it's HILARIOUS to see them go at it ok  
> -gee i wonder what that pen's about


	3. pictures for the coming days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nightmare mention but nothing graphic
> 
> thanks for sticking with this hot mess fam <3

It wasn’t a fire.

Peter should’ve known—that’s the first thing you learn living in or near the city: “fire” is what you yell when you need help, because no one helps you if you yell “help”.

Also, ‘cause like, this has happened _so many times_ to him already.

He’s so bad at this.

“ _All good, Pete?_ ” Ned’s voice says over the comms.

Karen responds with his vitals, because Ned’s learned not to trust him saying he’s “fine”, and Peter hears MJ hum approvingly.

“Heading back,” Peter says.

“ _Good going. Next time, try not to overdo the webbing_ ,” MJ says.

He didn’t.

...He might’ve.

Unimportant.

At least he was sure the mugger wouldn’t be getting out anytime soon.

“Sorry.”

“ _We’re going to need to talk about your new overkill tendencies, dude_ ,” Ned adds kindly. “ _Like, I_ get _it, but._ ”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, “yeah. Nat says it happens eventually for everyone. Mine’s a little late, I guess. Working on it.”

“ _Better than last Monday, I gotta say_ ,” MJ says.

“ _We don’t talk about Monday_ ,” Ned says.

“Monday is a black box that belongs in the bottom of the ocean,” Peter agrees.

“ _Don’t be so dramatic, loser. It was just a food truck._ ” Pause. “ _I mean, sucks for the owner, and you definitely should’ve left a tip or something, but all-in-all not_ that _big a problem._ ”

“Funny.”

* * *

MJ leaves for Harvard with her mom in one car, and Peter, Ned, and _his_ parents in another.

They stop over a diner in the middle of nowhere and _talk_ , and it’s fun, and Peter’s feeling _okay_.

He’s been sleeping the past five days uninterrupted, and that’s a big, _big_ win.

May’s letting him stay over with Ned at his off-campus apartment until Monday, which is also a big, big win.

Cambridge is calm.

Overpriced, a little, but calm.

Peter spends the weekend rearranging furniture as exercise, and helping MJ and Ned with their first week of groceries.

They sneak him into the libraries at Harvard and MIT and he soaks up as much information as possible before the days are through and it’s time to _go_.

Sunday afternoon is Peter asleep on MJ’s lap as she thumbs through her rented law books; Ned plays a video game on his Switch, smooshed beside them on the couch but not minding the lack of space.

Sunday night is Peter waking up at ten to twelve, laughing to himself at MJ’s open-mouthed, lolled head on the couch cushions, her books on the side table, and Ned flopped face-down on the arm rest.

He quietly gets up to cover them with blankets, and wiggles in between.

Cambridge is calm.

Peter is, too.

* * *

Peter ruins his streak right before the New Year, and it’s not Thanos’ fault.

It’s his own.

He flubbs a swing towards a run-of-the-mill ( _well_ ) hard-time criminal, and gets himself struck with what feels like a taser on max...times five-thousand.

On his _jaw_.

He thinks he hears someone arrive, and even though he knows the sound of small engines and plasma blasts, he hopes against hope it isn’t Tony, because that would mean this is _really_ bad.

...Is that swelling?

Is his face _swelling_?

 _Nevermind. Please let it be Tony,_ please _let it be Tony_ —

“Kid, when I said to try something new, I didn’t mean get electrocuted by alien tech in the face.”

Peter manages a garbled, “ _Ronuh_!”

“ _Wew_ ,” Tony responds, “that looks worse than when Cap tried to—”

Silence.

“Ronuh?”

“Let’s get you upstate, kid,” Tony continues, picking up the webslinger. “You’re lucky. Shuri’s checking up on Rhodey’s PT regimen; she should be able to fix this up no sweat.”

* * *

“‘Ey, Ronuh?”

“Yeah, Pete?”

“Yuh’ nuh ‘ewwin’ Muh n’ Nu’ n’ M-juh, yuh?”

“Oh, I definitely am. After treatment, if you're lucky. Karen, activate _Muffle_ _Protocol_.”

Peter complains with angry groans the _whole_ ride through.

* * *

The last person he expects to see while on his stretcher while being free-floated into the med bay is here.

And she’s _smirking_.

Peter shakes his head, looking up at Shuri like _Am I under medication?_

 _No, and you still go through the meds too fast for them to make you hallucinate anyway,_ she looks back.

(It’s a very _specific_ Look she’s mastered due to being friends with him, okay?)

MJ’s in a blazer with the Stark Industries logo emblazoned on the left pocket, holding a thick binder and paused from talking with Pepper.

“What, didn’t I tell you?” she says from the second floor.

(Peter notes that Shuri looks too calm to _not_ know about this already.)

 _No, you didn’t_ , his bruised face tries to say, but Peter’s sure it’s barely moving like the _rest_ of him.

Her smirk deepens. “I got promoted.”

“So that’s what the pen was about,” he tries to say, but it comes out more like: “‘o ‘a’s whuh ‘uh ‘en wu’ a’ow.”

“‘ _A’ow_ ’ is exactly what you look like.”

Peter frowns.

Ish.

“Hey Shuri, is he gonna be able to take visitors?” MJ asks, ignoring him completely.

 _#TrueLove_ , he thinks bitterly, hoping his judging look reaches Ned in Massachusetts. _Thanks for telling me, Guy in the Chair_.

“Yeah, and maintenance,” Shuri responds with a sly grin, still guiding his stretcher _away_ from his girlfriend and co-boss.

* * *

“...How long ago did you know you’d be working here?” Peter asks when _Ned walks into the med bay_ an hour later. Peter’s facial bruises are all but gone and he’s glad Shuri’s new meds work, but seeing his friends show up (on their supposed “sleep-in day”) at _his_ usual Saturday office is pretty jarring on the brain.

“ _Heh_ ,” Ned responds, and Peter concludes its at least been long enough for him and MJ to have matching evil chuckles.

“I feel kinda betrayed.”

“We signed NDA’s,” MJ says, walking in. She’s carrying double the amount of paperwork as last Peter saw.

Ned shrugs. “And honestly, we’ve been _way_ too busy with school and work to bring it up.”

Peter squints at him. “We Facetime. Every. Day.” He points an accusing finger at MJ. “I kiss you on the reg!”

MJ quirks a brow, unperturbed. “I can take away those privileges, if you’d prefer.”

“...All is forgiven.”

“Whipped,” Ned jokes, but there’s no bite. He hugs his friend. “Get better, dude.”

“You’re going?”

“Gotta fix the mess you made on the mask,” he replies, a look of dread on his face.

“...So Shuri’s gonna make you test the new defense mechanisms,” Peter says.

Ned looks like he’s about to cry. “Yup.”

MJ starts _laughing_. “He’s still got a bruise on his foot from—”

 _Glare_.

“—wow, you’ve been workin’ on that, good job,” MJ says approvingly. She gives Peter a kiss and ruffles Ned’s hair. “I gotta go do some research in the library. Peace.”

Peter laughs, watching her go.

“Dude.”

Peter turns to his friend, confused, but the ghost of a laugh still on his face. “Yeah?”

“ _Dude_ ,” Ned repeats, “you’re _laughing_.”

Peter blinks.

Because he’s laughed before.

Strained, sure, but still.

He hasn’t laughed like _this_ in over a year, though.

Not that belly-filled, unrestrained  _guffaw_ from what feels like forever ago.

A grin creeps onto his face. “ _Dude_.”

Ned laughs. “Dude!”

“Duuuude!”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Shuri returns with a tray of overly-healthy food to find the two devolved into silent laughter, wheezing for air in a much more positive way than the last time she’d seen Peter.

“Feels good, huh?” Shuri says.

Peter’s eyes are crinkled and shining, clear as day. “Yeah,” he wheezes, catching Ned’s shoulders. “Yeah, Shuri.”

She nods, grinning wide. “Same hat.”

* * *

MJ huffs, the last draft on her computer done. She’s in Pepper’s office, working on a coffee table beside one of the bookshelves. The CEO herself is taking her ten minutes, absentmindedly tapping away on her own computer.

MJ clears her throat. “Does it get easier?”

She thinks she hears Pepper laugh. “You’ll think I’m lying, but yes. Eventually.”

_Clack, click-clickity clack._

Pepper asks next: “Do you get the nightmares?”

“Do _you_?”

“Fair rebuttal, future lawmaker.” Pepper sighs. “Yes. They came back, but they’re starting to ebb away again. You?”

MJ shakes her head. “I don’t dream much.”

“But you dream.”

“Only when I’m exhausted.”

“Which is?”

“Well, uh,” MJ stammers, off-guard, “now—now, it’s a lot. But mostly they’re dreams, not...you know.”

“The world ending?”

“Yeah.”

“Be glad.”

_Click. Click clack._

MJ wonders if it’s weird that she’s this close to the person paying her, and if this is some form of nepotism.

...Then she remembers she beat out multiple-thousands of applicants for this gig _without_ Peter or Tony knowing, and accepts that she’s just _that_ awesome.

“You have anyone to talk to?” Pepper asks, her ten minutes down to three.

“Ned. May. Only people who know.”

“Shuri’s a good ear.”

MJ winces. She remembers the newsreels from That Day. “Shuri’s in them. Sometimes.”

“Ah. So I take it you haven’t told Peter?”

MJ shakes her head. “I don’t want to. But.”

“Oh?”

“I took a nap when we drove back to Queens for break, and apparently I was screaming or something, ‘cause he and Ned had to wake me up and they both looked so _worried_. He still thinks it's a one-off, though.”

Pepper smiles tightly. “Classic.”

“And since Ned already knew, it wasn’t that hard to calm me down.”

 _Click, clack_. “You guys share, huh?”

“Yeah, a lot.” MJ hits _P_ _rint_. “He’s a very good friend.”

“That’s good. You’ll need those.”

Pause. “Do they always have to be civilians?”

“Trust me, MJ,” Pepper says, eyeing the clock. “Sometimes being reminded of normalcy is all that keeps you sane.”

MJ squints. “I’m majoring in International Law for the Enhanced and Otherwise Unregulated.”

“That's going to have a terrible acronym, I gotta say.”

“Work-in-progress.”

FRIDAY’s voice cuts through the room: “ _Doctor Banner’s files have come in, boss. He’s waiting in the lab for you._ ”

“Thanks, FRIDAY,” Pepper says, standing. She turns to her intern. “You’re done, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Get the papers to Happy and take the rest of the day off, okay?”

MJ quirks a brow. “You’re paying me for the _day_ , right?”

Pepper laughs. “Yes. Don’t worry about it. You do good work, MJ.”

“FRIDAY?”

“ _Yes, Ms. Jones?_ ”

“You have that recorded?”

“ _Yes, Ms. Jones._ ”

MJ nods at her boss, and starts packing. “Cool. See ya next week.”

Pepper leaves the room laughing.

* * *

“So when were you gonna tell me about the internship?” Peter asks on January 3rd, from Ned’s ceiling.

MJ takes a deep breath, sprawling on the solitary twin bed. “Probably around the same time as when I’d tell you about the nightmares. So, uh, never.”

Peter drops down. “ _Nightmares_? MJ, you said—at the—you could've  _told_ m—”

She puts a hand up. “Don’t say it. You and I both know it would’ve sucked for you if I said it sooner. You were a _mess_ , Peter.”

“But still—”

“ _No_. I had— _have_ Ned, and May," she glares. "It’s cool. And it wasn’t as frequent as your attacks.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “See? Look. You’re not going crazy right now. And it’s ‘cause you’re doing a lot better than a year ago.”

“I—fine. That’s true,” Peter concedes, crawling up to the wall. “You take note of everything, huh?”

“I gotta be good at sorting evidence and making a case,” MJ replies. “Kind of my career choice.”

“You could always just death-glare people into submission.”

“That’s probably some form of illegal.” Pause. “But—Ned’s been getting good at those.”

Peter's brows knit together. “I don’t think it’s any more legal if your _friend_ is the one doing it.”

“I’m willing to test the theory.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” she agrees. “Hey.”

Peter turns curiously from his spot by the wall trim. He waves. “Hello.”

 _Laugh._ “I’ve missed you.”

“...Who are you and what have you done with my MJ,” Peter deadpans, dramatically pushing himself higher into the ceiling.

Ned busts in with food. “Uh. Why is Peter trying to melt into the ceiling?”

“Ned,” Peter says, dead serious. “That’s _not_ MJ.”

 _Huff._ “I try to be more in-tune with my feelings for _one second_ and this is the thanks I get,” MJ blanks, squinting at her boyfriend. “Fine, go jump off a cliff.”

“I could,” Peter says.

“He could,” Ned agrees, placing bags of chips and other vegetarian-friendly snacks onto the floor.

“The _worst_ ,” MJ says, pursing her lips. “Both of you.”

“Wait, I love you!” Peter says, dropping down. "You can talk to me, I'm sorry, I love you _so much_ , MJ," he says, kissing her all over her face. 

She feigns protest, shoving him lightly. “Be _gone_.”

He hugs her waist, digging his head into her side like a pet. “I can’t, Ned’s mom wants to fatten me up.”

MJ turns to Ned. “Does she know she has to feed him at _least_ thrice the Olympian diet to get an extra pound of fat on this guy?”

“Did you...fact check...that…?” Ned asks, brows furrowed and head tilted.

 _Squint._ “Maybe.”

 _Squint back._ “...We have enough rice for an Olympic _team_.”

“Which one?”

Ned raises his chin proudly. “Swim team.”

MJ _whistles_. “That’s a _lot_.” She turns to Peter. “Think you can handle that?”

“Nope,” he replies, kissing her again. “But I can try!”

“ _Attaboy_ ,” she says, patting his cheek.

“Aw, MJ, look at him,” Ned says, wiping an invisible tear. “So _happy_. All grown up and getting better.”

MJ smiles, sitting up and catching Peter in a headlock. “Hear that, loser? You’re doing A-OK, and we’re proud of you.”

“ _Blegh_ ," Peter whines, "can you be proud and not be half-choking me?”

“ _Nope_ ,” MJ teases, giving him a noogie. “But I can _try_.”

* * *

Ned takes a selfie with them in the background, sharing it onto their shared Google Drive folder.

He names the file _for sad times_ _.png_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's to not having a plot and trying to tie up a story that could've kept going for forever
> 
> anyway
> 
> there's fluff coming
> 
> so get READY
> 
> find me on tumblr as doofwrites!
> 
> (also happy resurrection day AYOOOO)

**Author's Note:**

> -ive had exactly two (2) (possibly three, but the third wasnt as bad) anxiety attacks and i can tell you i genuinely thought i was having a heart attack all those times.  
> -ptsd taken from what a family friend has experienced, as well as interviews ive seen in class so im very sorry if they're off and PLEASE correct me  
> -im the kind of person who likes to be hugged to be calmed down because everything's just, a Lot, and hugging kind of solidifies my state, so that response is all personal experience
> 
>  
> 
> anyway cheers, see you in the next chap, it's not gonna be as emo I HOPE. have a great day familia, God bless you, visit a therapist if ya need to, stay sunny
> 
> comments and critiques appreciated <3


End file.
